Battle of Pride
by Leia
Summary: [Complete] PostCell. A once clear, passionate hatred, suddenly clouded ... lifelong goals, thrown to the wind ... feelings for Bulma, once thought buried, now erupting once more. Too many questions, not enough answers. Vegeta ponders. Bulma listens.


Disclaimer: I do not own DB/Z/GT, or anything even remotely related.  I do own the Piccolo action figure that I carry around everywhere, though . . . ^^

A/N: This story began as a flashback within my fic "_Damsel in Distress? Not Likely_!", but as I wrote it, the snippet began to take on a life of its own.  I decided to post this as a separate fic, and here it is.  (Of course, I was still at a loss for what to use as a flashback in my other story, but that's fixed now.)

Battle of Pride

Bulma sat hunched over the keyboard, typing furiously, her fingers flying over the key in a "tap-tapping" noise that sounded like hail on a metal roof.  Every once in a while she would stop and swipe almost angrily at her eyes, giving a loud sniff before continuing with her work.

Vegeta regarded her from the doorway, leaning against the jamb with his arms folded across his chest, eyebrows furrowed.  He had been standing there for almost an hour, watching her, saying nothing.  She wasn't even aware he was there, which was the way he wanted it.  Vegeta didn't want to talk to her -- he was too confused.  Kakarotto had died two days ago, and Mirai no Trunks had returned to his own timeline the day before . . . and Vegeta was alive, bereft of his pride and the ambition that had provided the drive in his life for the past three years.

After a while, the woman leaned back in her chair, springs creaking, and she picked up a framed photograph that had been sitting on the desk, and held it in her hand.  A soft sound issued from her throat, and Vegeta knew she was crying.  The Saiyajin hesitated, looking at his clenched fists, then took a few steps forward so he was standing directly behind her.  Bulma gasped in surprise and spun around in her seat.  "Vegeta!" she wiped hastily at her face, illuminated by the blue light of her computer screen.

"You're crying over Kakarotto again," Vegeta surmised, though it was a statement, not a question.  He could see the silver trails creeping down Bulma's cheeks.

Bulma nodded slowly. "He was my best friend, and now he's gone," she sighed, and her breath shuddered as she exhaled.  "I know you hate him, and you're probably glad he's dead, but . . ."

Stung, Vegeta snapped, "You'd be surprised what you don't know, woman," he crossed his arms again, this time in a defensive gesture.

Bulma stared at him for a few seconds, then she rose from her chair and flung her arms around him, burying her face in his shirt and crying.  Vegeta was more than mildly startled; his relations with Bulma had been quite strained since the birth of their son, since soon afterward he had taken off into space for a few months, and here she was, acting as though nothing had happened.  It was surprising -- but if Bulma wasn't going to say anything, neither would he.  His reaction scared him, for Vegeta realized he _missed_ her, as odd as that was.  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her lightly, but it was the embrace of a sympathetic stranger, not a lover, a sharer of mind and soul.  Bulma continued to sob, ignorant of the difference.

Eventually, she calmed down, though her slender body still shook from the aftermath of crying.  "I miss him so much," she whispered, words muffled by his shirt.  "You wouldn't believe how much I miss him . . ."

"You've been working too hard," Vegeta informed her, "You take everything too seriously when you're overtired."

"Maybe," Bulma conceded grudgingly, "But programming for me is like training for you.  It helps get my mind off things."

Vegeta gave a perfunctory grunt in response, then he led Bulma to their room.  "Sit," he ordered, and Bulma obeyed him, perching on the edge of the bed.  Vegeta sat beside her, not touching her, and Bulma rested her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands.

"Thanks," Bulma murmured, though her voice still sounded husky.  "I needed a break."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Vegeta still saying nothing, and after a while, Bulma melted against his side.  Vegeta didn't move, but Bulma still leaned against him.  "I've missed you," she whispered.  "I know I haven't been very nice to you lately, yelling at you about training all the time, but . . . if you hadn't, you wouldn't have been able to distract Cell for Gohan.  We all would have died.  I'm proud of you."

  


"I told you," Vegeta said coldly, but a warm feeling rose up inside him.  The woman was _proud_ of him for training?  That was definitely something new!  Normally, any mention of Vegeta and his past times brought forth a vicious diatribe, full of accusations against him for not spending enough time with Bulma and their son . . . but now, Bulma was praising him?  This was too much for the Saiyajin to assimilate ‑‑ so instead of trying, Vegeta just shook his head and shrugged it off.

"Do you miss him?" Bulma asked softly.

Vegeta stiffened, and he resisted the urge to jump up and storm out of the room.  "Miss who?"

Bulma tilted her face up so she could look him in the eye, and she frowned.  "Don't play stupid.  Do you miss Son-kun?  I mean, it's only been two days, but . . . do you think you're going to miss him?"

A heavy silence fell over them, with the weight of an iron curtain.  Vegeta said nothing, drawing patterns on the bedspread with his finger, wanting nothing more than to bellow "NO!" and leave it at that, but knowing he owed it to the woman to give her an honest answer.  "He was a good sparring partner," Vegeta admitted finally, and though it sounded like this was an evasive answer, he knew Bulma would understand his methods.  "I never broke a sweat except when I fought Kakarotto.  And . . . though others may scoff at the death of the Saiyajin race, he was, nonetheless, my last subject.

"He understood," Vegeta continued, the tone of his voice softening subtly to become reflective, almost . . . wistful.  "Of all the pathetic Chikyuujin senshi, Kakarottto was the only one who fought for the love of battle.  Not just for the protection of this poor excuse of a planet -- for the feeling that accompanies the pounding of adrenaline, the rush of combat.  We never spoke of it, but . . . Kakarotto . . . he knew.  He bested me time and time again, and I hated him, but in a way, we are brothers."

His face spasmed, and he looked away, glancing out the window.  The stars winked at him teasingly, as though they held the answers for which he so desperately searched, but would not lower themselves to tell him.  "We _were_ brothers.  Now, he's dead.  While I died like a snivelling infant on Nameksei, Kakarotto perished with honour, without fear, without looking back.  Even in death, he has left me behind."

A soft hand brushed the side of his face, cupping his cheek in a gentle, empathetic gesture, and Vegeta's head snapped around in surprise.  "I'm sorry," Bulma's forehead was wrinkled, and her eyes held true sorrow. 

"Sorry?  What for?"

"For not understanding earlier," Bulma sighed, a quiet, frustrated sound.  "For . . . for blaming you for hating Son-kun, when it was just your way of covering up your feelings."

A low snarl burst from Vegeta's throat, and he pulled away from Bulma, causing her to fall over.  She sat up, startled.  "I _do_ hate Kakarotto!" Vegeta roared, leaping to his feet and staring down at her, feeling his eye twitch angrily.  "Don't get the impression that I feel bonded to him or anything stupid like that.  Don't you _see_, woman?  Gah!"

Bulma pushed herself to a standing position, eyes clouded with confusion.  "But . . . you said . . ."

"I _said_, he _understands_ me, not that we're secretly best friends!" Vegeta's lip curled derisively.  "_Aarrghh!_  You -- you don't get anything, do you?  Why do you think I hate Kakarotto?  Because he's stronger than I am?  That's what everyone thinks, isn't it?  That I'm some petty, jealous warrior who can't admit that his rival is his better in strength."

The manner in which the colour drained from Bulma's face indicated that he had struck a nerve.  "O, I'm aware of this," Vegeta hissed, "I'm not stupid.  Did you know, out of all of you, the only one who understands what I've gone through is that stupid _Nameksejin_?  A second-string fighter, who's completely under control of Kakarotto's brat, but he's the only one who know why I hate Kakarotto.  The _only one_ on this planet who has undergone the same humiliating transformation as I."

  


Bulma said nothing, something for which Vegeta was grateful.  He left her side and began pacing across the room, arms crossed over his chest so tightly that they dug into the armoured chest plate he wore.  His frantic strides caused him to knock over a chair with a dreadful clatter, but the Saiyajin didn't even pause.  "Do you want to know?" he demanded suddenly, stopping so abruptly that Bulma jumped.  "Do you really want to know why I hate him?"

Vegeta's face hardened into a mask of anger as Bulma chewed her lower lip, contemplating. At last, the human woman nodded apprehensively.  "Yes, I do."

"Then I'll tell you," the pent-up energy and emotion caused Vegeta to resume his frenzied pacing, stalking back and forth across the room like a predatory animal on a hunt.  "When I first came to this planet, I was feared . . . your friends spent nearly an entire year training in preparation for my arrival!  I battled Kakarotto, and I was the stronger warrior -- though the fight ended in a draw, Kakarotto admitted that I had bested him.  _He_ was the one who wanted to surpass _me_!"

Vegeta blew out his breath in an explosive expression of anger.  "We were enemies, then on Nameksei, we became uneasy allies, and in the latest battle, I suppose we were almost partners.  But after Furiza killed me, that's when things changed.  Furiza, those blasted androids, Cell . . . _rrghh_ . . . that's when everything was flipped around!  Yes, Kakarotto became stronger than I in those battles, but that isn't the point!  You don't understand that -- you're the one who's blinded by my ambition, not I!"

He paused, short of breath, and he clenched his fists tightly, raising his hands in front of his face.  "After I was brought back after being killed by Furiza, my role changed.  In the battles against the _jinzouningen_, and even with Cell, I was no longer the enemy.  I was not the one Kakarotto had to fight."

"You fought _with_ him, not against him," Bulma protested, and it was evident from her blank facial expression that she still had no clue what was going on.  "Of course you weren't his enemy."

"_That is not the point!_" Vegeta thundered, and his voice rebounded throughout the room, causing a picture frame to topple off the wall.  "The _point_ is, that Kakarotto felt he had to _protect_ me!  Do you not _see_?  Instead of respecting and fearing me, Kakarotto, in that stupid, altruistic way of his, knew I was beneath him.  He felt he needed to save me from the big, bad enemies' that threaten this planet.  __

_"That_ is what my 'problem' with him is.  In his eyes, I was no stronger than you, or your parents, or his mate, or the human fighters, or anyone else on this blasted mudball!  No matter what the calibre of my strength, I was still low enough that Kakarotto felt he needed to protect me.  To have that happen to me, the prince of the Saiyajin race, is an incredible affront!"

Chest heaving, Vegeta again halted suddenly in his pacing.  "I -- do -- not -- want -- to -- be -- protected!" he shouted, enunciating each word clearly so that Bulma would have no chance of misunderstanding.  "I am a _warrior_!  I do not need to hide behind Kakarotto's power, and I do not want him to feel that he has to stand between me and harm!  I am a fighter; it is my essence, my role, my _duty_ to risk my life, and to lose it if that is what fate decrees.  But your soft-hearted Kakarotto, on the other hand, considered me yet another weakling to take under his wing.  Even after his death, _Gohan_, Kakarotto's _son_, jumped in front of a blast to save me from Cell.  Now, not only Kakarotto, but that practically infant spawn of his thinks I need to be taken care of and protected.  Do you know what that does to my _pride_?

"My home planet was destroyed, and because of Kakarotto I could not avenge the death of my people by killing Furiza.  Because of Kakarotto, I am considered a second-class warrior.  Because of Kakarotto, I am _not_ a warrior, I am someone who needs to be _sheltered_.  My pride is the only thing that has kept me alive for years -- yet Kakarotto considered it his right to tear that away from me.  And all the while, the imbecile thought he was doing me good.  What an _idiot_!  Tell me, Bulma," Vegeta shot her an accusing glare.  "Am I wrong to hate him?  Tell me honestly.  Don't try to spare my feelings -- no one else does, so why should you?"

"No," Bulma whispered, and her voice shook with suppressed emotion. "You're not wrong.  If I were in your place, I would feel the same way," her eyes began to shimmer, and Vegeta realized she was trying not to cry again.  "But Vegeta . . . are you glad that he's dead?"

  


Thousands of emotions that had previously been simmering in the base of Vegeta's mind were suddenly brought to full boil, churning and frothing within him until the force of them was too great and Vegeta sank back down onto the bed heavily, his head in his hands.  "No," he bit out, his voice muffled.  "I hate him -- he has ruined me, taken away the only thing I had left, but . . . without Kakarotto . . . I am alone."

"Not quite," Bulma disagreed, and she looked up at him pleadingly.  Her eyes flickered as her gaze moved over his face searchingly, and she lifted a hand and touched his face.  Vegeta remained unmoved, though his jaw muscles tightened when Bulma lightly ran the backs of her fingers down his cheek.  

"If you consider yourself alone, then I . . ." she stopped, glanced away, then blurted out, "Vegeta, what about me?  I don't want to sound like an egoist, but I always thought we understood each other, too!  Please . . . I know we haven't been too close the past few months, but tell me I'm not completely crazy.  Tell me there's a chance we can start over."

Vegeta stared at her, thoughts and feelings flitting through him with startling frequency.  _She's so beautiful_, he thought, running his gaze over her straight turquoise hair, and deep blue eyes that were bright with unshed tears.  A pang of guilt stabbed at him, and his hand raised, wiped the tears from Bulma's face with his thumb, before Vegeta could even think about what he was doing.

He'd forgotten how soft her skin was.  He'd forgotten how good it felt to be able to touch her, to hold her in his arms, to know that she was his.  And, strange as it was, to know that he was hers.

Unthinkingly, Vegeta held out his arm in a silent invitation, and with a half-choked exclamation of relief, Bulma moved close to him and rested her head on his shoulder, her arms slipping up around his chest.  Vegeta held her against him, burying his face in her hair, enjoying her closeness.

How he had missed her . . .

"I missed you, too," Bulma murmured, exhaling slowly in contentment.  "Maybe I'm crazy for waiting for you, but I'm glad I did."

Vegeta wanted to agree -- wanted to tell her that, if she hadn't waited, he wouldn't have known what to do.  He yearned to express his regret for leaving her to care for their infant son alone, for causing her so much pain . . . but he didn't know what to say.  Expressing his feelings in words had never been one of Vegeta's fortes; he was a man of action, and though he could deliver blistering insults if he so chose, the softer emotions, more often than not, evaded him.

"It wasn't your fault that I left," Vegeta's voice came out almost as a growl, gruff with repressed emotion that was struggling to break free.  "Pride . . . that's what held me back, what caused me to leave you and Trunks.  With his birth, it was impossible for me to pretend that - that I don't have feelings for you.  Everyone could look at him and see what was between us, and I couldn't take that.  I didn't want the others to look at me any less as a warrior because I am a father, so I . . . I ran."

Bulma didn't say anything, but she tightened her embrace for a second, giving him silent encouragement.  Vegeta continued to speak slowly, not thinking about what he was saying, but simply letting the words flow straight from within him.  "But things are different now.  When I stood on that cliff, watching Kakarotto's son battle Cell, I realized what I would lose if the monster was allowed to succeed.  Not only would I perish, but so would my only chance of regaining the part of me that died when my home planet was destroyed.  That was when I knew I had to help Gohan, whether I died or not.  I couldn't let Cell destroy you, or our son . . . you two are my legacy.

"When I am gone, no one will remember me for my battles," Vegeta's facial muscles twitched as he struggled to suppress his bitterness.  "I will be just another of Kakarotto's friends', who, in the end, could not defend himself and needed to be babysat by that idiot.  But a son . . . he will live on, and I will live through him.  He will continue the Saiyajin bloodline for a few more years, at least, and my race will not die.  Not yet.  It was when I realized this, that I knew I had to fight."

  


He snorted, a embittered sound.  "Of course, Kakarotto's sacrifice reduced any contribution I made to a mere grain in the desert, but he will never know what he did.  The fool.  He is so strong . . . it cannot merely be his race, for at birth my power level far exceeded his.  No, the reason Kakarotto is such a powerful warrior, is that he . . . he is not afraid --" Vegeta choked off the words, unable to say them.

Fortunately, he didn't need to.  "He isn't afraid to love," Bulma finished the sentence for him, nodding in agreement.  "It's not just the thrill of combat for him.  He fights to preserve the lives of the people he cares for, and that's where his strength comes from."

Vegeta nodded, relieved beyond words that Bulma knew him so well.  "Yes.  His mate, his child, his friends" -- he broke off, grimacing -- "his enemies . . . those whom Kakarotto took upon himself to protect . . . his affection for those people fuelled his desire to fight.  It is there that he bests me every time, for I don't have anyone to look after save myself.  To have someone _need_ me like that, and the strength it brings, eludes me every time I search for it."

He cast his gaze down to Bulma, who sat with her eyes closed, her body pressed against him so close that he could feel her heartbeat thudding next to his.  A tiny smile brightened the dark lines of his face for a second, as realization struck him with near-paralytic force.  He _did_ have someone to protect -- he had just been too blinded by hatred and confusion to see it.  

"Or, so I thought," Vegeta's voice lowered in pitch until he himself could barely hear it.  "I was so caught up in removing myself from under Kakarotto's care that I became ensnared in my own hate and ambition.  But I'm not blind anymore.  I know that Kakarotto is not the only warrior with someone to defend, to care for.   It may have taken me two years to see it, but I'm not denying its truth anymore."

Bulma sat straight up, her azure eyes wide.  "Vegeta!" she ejaculated, and the way she looked at him, her cheeks flushed pink in the dim light and her eyes sparkling with hardly-dared-for hope, made something swell inside Vegeta's heart.  He didn't know what it was, but he did know it was welcome.

Vegeta chuckled dryly, and he pulled her close to him again, enjoying the rush of warmth it brought him when Bulma wrapped her slender arms around him and hugged him.  "Not that you need it," he snickered, "You've got more brains than anyone else on this planet, and a blasted temper to match.  I pity anyone who stands in your way!"

"Maybe Son-kun wasn't trying to protect you," Bulma mused after a short silence.  "Maybe he was just trying to make you see where you were going wrong."

Vegeta blinked rapidly as the veracity of the woman's words wormed its way into his mind.  It was a difficult thing to accept, for that meant the tearing down of all Vegeta's preconceived notions about himself, his strength, and his greatest rival . . . but it would not be the first time.  Such an epiphany had occurred after his death by Furiza's hand, and like that time, Bulma was here to help him.  If he would only let down his pride long enough for her to enter.

"Maybe you're right," Vegeta smiled tightly, resting his cheek on the top of Bulma's head.  "Perhaps Kakarotto was trying to show me that I had misdirected my pride."

"What?"

"I was too proud to care for you, at first," Vegeta shuddered involuntarily, remembering long, painful sessions in the Gravitational Trainer and the Room of Spirit and Time, when he had tried to beat his feelings out of him by torturing his body.  "But I believe Kakarotto was right.  I should not be too proud to care; I should be proud that I have someone to care _for_.  Kakarotto may have an entire planet and a group of friends to defend, but . . ." he paused, slightly afraid that Bulma would laugh at him, or consider his admission completely aside from his character.  ". . . you and our son are enough for me.  That is an honour in itself."

Bulma's body trembled as she began crying, though not from sadness.  He placed a hand behind her head, entwining his fingers in her hair, and he tilted her face up towards him.  A corner of his mouth quirked upward, then Vegeta bent down and kissed her.

  


As Bulma's hands slid up to his neck, drawing him in for a deeper, more intimate kiss, an intense feeling of pride filled Vegeta from every part of his body and mind.  He had felt such emotion before, when he was about to win a battle, but this was different; this was not pride for himself or his abilities.  It was because this extraordinary woman, with her intelligence and fiery will, had allowed him to love her -- allowed him to protect her, though she was perfectly capable of running her life herself.  And oddly enough, she didn't resent that at all.

Vegeta found himself lost in the emotions of the kiss, and he ran his fingers through Bulma's hair, amazed that a human woman could ignite such passion inside him, but not minding it one bit.  _Look out, Kakarotto,_ Vegeta thought with an inner grin.  _You don't have the advantage anymore.  I know the secret to your power, and I intend to use it.  When we meet again in the afterlife, you'd better be prepared for a battle like you've never fought before!_

Through his once-proclaimed greatest weakness, the Prince of Saiyajins had found his strength.

 ******


End file.
